


The Road to Kaer Morhen

by shippingandrecieving



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Dandelion is about 20, Geralt is a fairly young witcher, book lore, i love that word, in reference to their shenanigans, set somewhere early on in the book-verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-06-14 00:45:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15377016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shippingandrecieving/pseuds/shippingandrecieving
Summary: Road to El Dorado AUWhat happens when a witcher and a bard are left without parental supervision? Mayhem.





	The Road to Kaer Morhen

**Author's Note:**

> Road to El Dorado/ Witcher crossover based solely on eemamminy's crossover art on tumblr (that makes three) I want to laugh whenever I look at it, it makes me so happy.

_The season of harvest festivals was drawing to an end with the first icy breaths of wintertime; and as songbirds will migrate with the warmth, Witcher's head northward when the season's turn. Not for fairer climates, but for certainly fairer company than mistrustful locals and plenty of alcohol to stave off the cold as they recount battles won and scars earned as is tradition._

_But, travel takes gold. And despite slaying monstrous- well, monsters- Witchers always seem to rarely come accompanied by the clink of a full coin purse. Which, of course, is how our daring adventure begins in a dingy back alley hovel rolling dice._

*

The white-haired Witcher leaned back in his chair, golden cat's eyes narrowed dangerously. A small pile of gold had built up in the centre of the beer and blood stained table that glinted in the half light of the shuttered windows, closed to shield the bloodshot eyes of the alley's drunks and the shady goings-on from the wandering guards.

"That there be a pretty bauble. On the table, witcher." Their opponent sneered, jabbing a thick finger at the wolf medallion hanging at Geralt's throat.

"I'm not betting my medallion, forget it." He glowered, crossing his arms over his chest.

The brute sat opposite smiled, showing a mouth full of broken and yellowed teeth. "I say you're betting, you're betting."

"Are we raising the stakes for each other now?" The witcher's gruff voice lilted with a sneer of his own and he leaned forward with a curl of his lip to reveal his glinting sharp teeth. "Then I bet one night with your sister, the last to keep her virtue."

The brigand's face turned red with alarming speed and he stood so fast he sent the stool he was sat upon skidding back a few paces and toppling with a crash.

"What d'you say about me sister!" The dive went silent in anticipation, and a few over eager patrons already had their hands tightening around any weapons in reach improvised or otherwise.

"Nothing I'm certain all the dockhands and rogue sailors don't say already."

In the time it took Ugly and his accomplices, Big, and Stupid, to draw their shiv's and blackjacks, Geralt had glassed the man on his left and sent the one to his right flailing backwards over a table with a forceful shove of Aard. There was one final beat of calm before havoc ensued.

Bottles and chair legs were shattered over tables and heads alike and the bar was transformed into a riot. Friends who had been calmly drinking in good company turned on each other like starving dogs over scraps. Dandelion, too, brandished his fists and hollered a challenge to the room but kept himself shielded behind the witcher.

The burly dockhand roared, spit flying from his ruddy lips and catching in his beard. Geralt's lip curled in disgust and swung his fist up to forcefully jab the man in the throat. Almost everyone had the height against Geralt but the witcher had learned early to use it to his advantage; for one witchers had an incalculable strength whatever their size, and being a swifter and smaller target against the gargantuan monsters he was created to bring down had also made things marginally easier to evade somethings jaws. Except Nekkers. Sod Nekkers.

It took a surprisingly short time for a troop of heavily armoured guards to burst through the doors and join the fray without pause. Must be a dull day for guard duty. Two of the second patrol identified Geralt by his reflective cats eyes and dual swords, pointed, and shouted something at their fellow guards who had taken a breather from beating back vivacious drunks. The witcher grasped his companion by the shoulder and vaulted off their table through the nearest open window.

Dirty streets and narrow alleyways knotted together like yarn and though the bard and the witcher were soon lost, the ever present rhythmic thump of heavy standard issue guardsmen's boots sounded all around. There was only one way forward, and that was where the loudest sounds were getting closer.

"Geralt!" Dandelion waved him over to where he was perched on the bottom rung of a rickety wooden ladder. With a vehement growl of 'Up' the witcher mounted the ladder behind him just as a crossbow bolt thudded into the wall just left of his knee.

The unlikely duo skidded to a halt on the very precipice of the wall, clutching at each others arms to steady themselves as one strong breeze would likely send them tumbling over. Far below them the busy market street bustled and -either Melitele was forgiving or having far too much fun- there was a cart packed with straw parked several meters directly below them.

"I bet you we could make that." Dandelion declared with a resolute nod, the heron feather pinned to his cap bobbed with the movement. Geralt peered over the edge then fixed his companion with a sceptical glare.

"Two orens say you're wrong-." A volley of crossbow bolts soared overhead like a flock of ravens. They were cornered. Geralt fisted his hands in his friends violet doublet and leaped backwards.

"You're on!" The bards voice lilted high as they lurched and plummeted downwards.

They hit the straw hard in a groaning tangle, but a safe one for the moment. They'd both be sporting bruises but bruises were always preferable to landing on stone like meat falling from a butchers cart, or landing in a mouldy, rat infested dungeon.

Dandelion raised his head, grinning giddily, cap still somehow perched on his head though the feather bent up at a jaunty angle. "You loose!" He trilled, unnecessarily cheerfully.

Geralt rolled his eyes and yanked the troubadour up by the hand and took off at a sprint as a second volley of arrows rained down upon them, sending the townsfolk scattering for cover. Dandelion yelped and would have fallen onto the sharpened tip of a halberd had Geralt not yanked him back by the collar. The halberd was wielded by a guard in the patrol that cut off their escape, four men between them and freedom. The sound of many armoured boots stamped and jangled in the street behind them.

Geralt growled a pained groan and raised his hands in surrender. He ignored the surprise and outright confusion from the guards expecting to be cut down where they stood; the 'butcher of Blaviken' was a moniker he hated more than travel via portals and he'd do just about anything to avoid being also known as the 'butcher of whatever horse-shit town this was'.

A blow to the back of his head sent the witcher to his knees as he was manhandled into iron shackles by many armoured hands and had his swords pulled free of their scabbards. He was used to the reassuring weight of them at his back, a witcher without his customary swords now felt wrong twice over. He hung his throbbing head and remained silent save a hiss as he was pulled back up by the arms and wrists and half carried, half dragged off down the cobbled street.

Dandelion, however, howled and struggled against the guards like a cat being shoved into a wicker cage against it's will. The guardsmen paid his struggles no mind, one hauling the incredulous troubadour over his shoulder like a sack of grain. Together, they were shoved and dragged through the twisting, narrow streets back the way they had come- if you knew where you were going in the first place.

Geralt's vision cleared in time to see the straw covered floor of the jail cell rising suddenly to meet him as he smacked against the stone and was pinned between the shoulders to have the manacles wrenched off, the heavy irons bit ravenous welts into the flesh of his wrists.

The normally delicate bard threw himself against the bars as soon as the cell had shut and had insulted his way up to great-grandmother in the family line of the guard who had dared carry him when the troop had slammed the barracks door closed, leaving them alone with the stench of old refuse and the maddening drip of water.

"So!" Dandelion hopped away from the door smiling with his hands set decisively on his hips, "How do we get out. You've broken out of lots of prisons, I take it?"

Geralt snorted. He rolled over onto his back but remained splayed out on the ground where the guards had thrown him. "Only in you're ridiculous ballads."

"Well, you always have a plan."

"I do? Since when."

"Since always." It was Jaskier's turn to roll his eyes at his friends dramatics, and sat cross-legged at the witcher's hip. "Look, I'm the one with the lute, and the devilish good looks." He pronounced, placing a hand over his heart. " _You're_ the one with the plans, the swords, and the sense of direction."

A disgruntled whinny sounded above them, and bought a momentary distraction from their argument to the tiny barred window set just below the ceiling of their cell.

Dandelion brightened suddenly. "I've got an idea! Give me a boost." He said, patting Geralt's arm until he moved to stand too.

"Roach! Roach, old girl!" Jaskier called up, "Want to show me and papa a trick? I need you to find us a pry bar."

Geralt stared at the floor of the cell, dumbstruck, and wondered if this was all just a hunger induced dream.

"It's a long piece of metal with a hooky-thing and the end." The bard stage-whispered. In fact, Dandelion staged-everything possible. 

"She doesn't understand 'pry bar,'" Geralt grumbled, coming to realise that this was not, in fact, a hunger induced dream, and nudged Jaskier's backside with his forehead to keep him balanced. "She's a damned horse, there's no way-"

A ring of keys landed at Geralt's feet with a ringing clash. Jaskier's smug expression perfectly mocked Geralt's sour look.

"Well," The witcher groused into the fabric of the bards trousers, refusing to look at the keys. "It's not a pry bar..."

The key turned the lock with a dull thunk. The bard and the witcher peered outside their cell in unicen, Jaskier peering right while Geralt scanned the corridor to their left. All was clear for now. The witchers heightened senses picked up three guards having a rather heated debate over Gwent cards and Geralt gave a quiet snort of contempt- his collection was far better. A sudden cold anger stole through him at the thought of them pawing through his deck for rare cards.

"This way!" Dandelion whispered, tugging Geralt's hand and creeping off to the left. Geralt smiled despite their situation at the thought of the troubadour plotting their escape slung upside-down.

His equipment was spread over a large table and, thankful for laziness outweighing curiosity, all together. The witcher took back his swords, the tip of the silver scraped against the table, causing Jaskier to wince but to Geralt it was music. He spun the blade in a tight arc and returned it to its scabbard belted across his back.

"Pack what you can, quietly. I'll get Roach." Geralt hissed under his breath, tilting his head to the closed door that the gambling guards were shirking their duties behind, and silently disappeared down the dim corridor like a phantom in fog.

One guard stood a short distance from his horse hunched over and nursing his hand, a fresh row of angry red teeth marks bright against his pallid skin.

"Devil sent nag!" The guard spat and smacked Roach hard on the nose. Geralt bared his teeth in a hideous grin and shoved forward with Aard. The guard dropped to his knees and the witcher took great pleasure in smashing the mans face repeatedly into the fencepost.

"Easy now, girl, shh." Geralt soothed, one hand under her jaw and the other smoothing down her face from between her flattened back ears to her nose softly. She grunted unhappily, ears still laying back, but nudged at his hand.

Muffled yelling and sounds of a scuffle heralded the bards arrival. Geralt rolled his eyes and slashed through the rope tethering Roach to the fence with one powerful strike with his hunting knife. Jaskier came rushing out moments later closely followed by three guards.

"It's time to go now!" Geralt wheeled his horse around and sent her forward to gallop with a hand outstretched to catch the poets and haul him up into the saddle behind him with the momentum.

Roach snorted and stamped noisily over the rough hewn cobblestones, tossing her head back and baring her teeth. She fussed and complained but kept up her unsteady canter through the tight, winding streets, shoving her way through patrolling guards and clearing steps and obstructing carts. Geralt ignored the shouts from the guards and citizens disturbed from their daily bumbling and continued to spur her forwards out the gates and into the wilds. Uneven cobbles turned to stamped down earth, to grassy heathland the further from civilization they went. Roach's hooves kicked up dust and grit until the sight and sounds of the town became distant and only the trilling of crickets and birdsong remained distinguishable.

Dandelion gave one echoing whoop of laughter and tightened his arms around the witcher's waist. "Well, what a riveting day out that was!"

"Uh-huh. We still have no food, no supplies, not 20 orens between the two of us, and my map is gone." Geralt grumbled, counting off his fingers as he rifled through his saddlebags.

"Oh, Geralt, look on the bright side. At least the skies are cl-" Thunder rumbled ominously in the distance. The witcher whipped around in the saddle to glare at the bard. Dandelion smiled sheepishly, spreading his hands.

Roach rolled her eyes back and danced on the spot. She was a steady mount -girl had her moments- but she was yet to throw him from the saddle. (Once, she had head-butted a drowner then proceeded to do the bugger in by trampling it to death, Geralt had never been more proud.)

Roots burst from the earth and detritus of the forest floor, sharp and wicked like a crones fingers, and reached their splintered digits towards the witcher and the bard. Roach reared, kicked, and took off at a wild gallop.

Jaskier screamed and buried his face into the reinforced leather of Geralt's armour, arms tightening around the witcher's waist like the choking vines of ivy. Geralt hunkered down against her neck and held on tight as branches and brambles snagged and whipped by in a blur. She cleared a fallen tree at an odd angle, jarring her riders almost out of the saddle. Geralt lurched right and braced with his knees to keep them seated, regaining his balance. For one sickening moment he felt them sliding- a fall at this speed would easily break bone, your neck if you were unlucky.

It took Axii, soothing words and soft touches on her neck, along outright bribery of fresh apples and oats to finally calm the terrified charge and bring her to a jittering stop.

They found themselves in a small clearing, sunlight shone dappled patterns through the dense boughs of the close growing trees all in verdant shades of green, and the grass was springy with dew damp mosses.

Dandelion sighed, arms loosening from their previous iron grip around his friends waist and looked around, taking in their picturesque surroundings, previous near-death experience all but forgotten. Geralt however, was less unnerved by the sudden evident appearance of a Leshen. No birds sang, no small woodland creatures scurried among the roots or branches of the trees, and the air was deathly still. The witcher gave the troubadour a nudge and the pair dismounted; Geralt to soothe his still trembling horse, and Jaskier to sigh poetically and gaze at the flowers.

"We're lost."

"You're a witcher, you're never lost!"

"I'm never lost because I have a damned map." The witcher muttered. Their bickering trailed off as Geralt heightened senses continued to pick up nothing at all, no scents or sounds of a general woodland.

"We shouldn't linger here..." Geralt swivelled his head around to survey the dense forest around them. He was rarely skittish, but the hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end, like something's breath was against it.

"Very well. We follow that trail!" Dandelion strode over and leapt up onto Roach's saddle, gathering up the reigns and pointing forward to the bleak wilderness.

"What trail?" The witcher deadpanned, following the bards movement with one grey eyebrow raised.

"The trail that we blaze!" The troubadour gave the horses flanks a sharp kick to urge her forward, though all she did was stamp and snort entirely unimpressed. Geralt rolled his eyes and pulled Jaskier to the back of the saddle by his belt.

"I ride front..." The witcher muttered with a roll of his eyes, hauling himself up onto his horses back. "And no singing."

Behind him, the bard gave the back of his head an almost deranged grin and slowly pulled his lute free of the strappings attaching it to their saddlebags. "Singing, you say?"

" _Look out new world, here we come! Brave, intrepid, and then some. Pioneers of maximum audacity whose resumes show that we are just the team, to live where other's merely dream, building up a head of steam... On the trail we blaze!_ " Jaskier ended his verse with an off-tune strum of his lute and a whoop of laughter.

Geralt rolled his head back in a lazy attempt to head butt his friend though he was grateful for the bard's obvious distraction to his discomfort. He gave Roach's flanks an encouraging squeeze with his knees and they set off at a trot, then a canter towards a distant break in the clouds. The duo blazed a trail eastwards until the hazy, decrepit visage of a tiny village game unfortunately into view.

The heavy, lingering scents of piss and peat clay cloying together with the sticky closeness of the air made Jaskier want to vomit. Geralt exhaled heavily through his nose as though trying to evict the smell from his senses, at least until they arrived upwind of the kiln pits. The piss still lingered.

"Master witcher! Oh, master witcher, won't you help us. Please!" Geralt snorted louder but pulled Roach to a halt. People always managed to fish their manners out of their arses when a witcher was needed, though they always seemed to crawl back up there when it came to payment. An old woman came hobbling towards them; rough fashioned walking cane in one hand, and a square of white -if you're delusional- cloth in the other.

"Dear lady, we are at your service!" The bard pronounced, voice only slightly pinched, sweeping his cap off and bowing at the waist.

"Thank you, kind sirs, thank you." She simpered, chin wobbling with the chattering of her jaw.

Jaskier dismounted with double his usual flair, somehow getting his boot caught in one of the stirrups and almost landing on his face. It took every last scrap of the witcher's self control not to laugh out loud at his friends clumsiness and the least -or most- opportune times. All that managed to escape was an unattractive snort that he covered as a sneeze. Roach however, had every desire to mock the bard and tossed her head back as soon as he had untangled himself.

Geralt swung his leg over the back of Roach's neck and slid gracefully off the saddle. "What's the trouble here?"

"Bandits in the woods!" The old woman cried, clutching at her shawl with one hand and pointing back the way they had come with the other.

Bandits. Easy. "Has anyone been injured?" The old woman shook her head and dabbed the corner of her mouth with the cloth.

"No, the squirrels keep to the woods."

"So, they haven't actually hurt or even attacked anyone?" Jaskier's brows met his hairline when the old woman shook her head again, far more forcefully this time.

"But they will, sir, vile elven bandits always attack! Hoarding all that gold, every pretty penny." Her eyes were wide and unfocused and she teetered back and forth like a sapling in a howling wind.

"Not gonna kill any elves for treasure." Geralt shifted his weight back to his other foot to mutter into Dandelion's ear.

"Hm, leave them to it I'd say." Jaskier agreed, with a deft nod. The witcher paused for a moment with a devilish glint in his golden eyes before clearing his throat.

"There spheres are not in conjuncture for this task of slaying elves!" Geralt pronounced, pointing up at the sky. A few superstitious peasants looked up at the sky in fear as though they expected his words to herald a whip of lightning or flying witches riding broomsticks.

To anyone else the witcher appeared entirely sincere in the rough growl of his voice and the slight if overbearing lean forwards, but the bard new him better. The rumble behind his words was for dramatic effect like stage thunder and the slight hunch of his broad shoulders was to keep them from twitching forwards and betraying his mirth at his own ridiculousness in their situation.

Dandelion, not wanting his usual dramatic flair to be outdone, raised himself onto the toes of his boots to peer sagely over his friend's shoulder, and plucked at the strings of his lute along with his words. "Spheres. Can't do it. Not today."

The old woman's hand shot forward and she snatched her bony fingers closed around Geralt's wrist.

"Nasty, selfish mutant. Refusing to help a poor old woman. In league with the elves himself, I bet!" Her grating voice turned shrill.

"Listen, Granma-" The witcher shook her off easily and folded his arms over his chest. "I'm a witcher, not a guardsman, a thug, or a thief. If you want this gold and a few dead elves, take up a sword yourself. I won't be the one coming to your rescue if you do." He turned to leave then paused. The playful look returned but had twisted into a sneer like a were-beast come the full moon. He leaned back towards her and whispered. "Va fail."

Geralt turned on his heel and marched back to over to his horse, he swung himself back up into the saddle and pulled Jaskier up behind him more forcefully than perhaps necessary. Face like a thundercloud, he wheeled about and trotted them up to a nearby signpost, hoping that he splattered mud on someone. The witcher growled under his breath and set off back the way they had come, again. Maybe they would reach Kaer Morhen by next winter.

The return journey through the forest was even more unpleasant than the first, even though the sinking sun stained the verdant green a warming amber. He hated the agitated itching at the back of his neck that made him want to rip out the hairs there. His foul mood was making Roach agitated and she complained right back, stamping heavily down a stony path.

"Maybe this treasure trove is hidden away here somewhere." Dandelion wondered aloud, gripping his friend's shoulder to lean up and peer about, as though he expected them to trip over it. "We should look for it! 'The Treasure-Hunter and The Witcher!'"

Geralt clenched his teeth. 

"Think about it," Dandelion reached forwards to tug at Geralt's wrists to pull Roach to a halt, "We find the elven, gold, we take the gold, and then we go to Kaer Morhen."

"How do we even know this elven gold hoard is real, from nothing more than the ramblings of some racist, _datty old_ -" The setting sun shimmered off something in the distance, just visible through the dense woodland, something that blazed flawlessly bright against the greens of the trees. Geralt and Dandelion shared a look for a moment before urging Roach forward together.

 _Curiosity killed the cat_ , Geralt thought, shaking off the cobwebs of his anxiety, _good thing I'm a wolf._

The entire structure was solid gold; untarnished, shining, and entirely out of place. It looked as though it belonged in a palace courtyard not unruly forest. Doubly so, as the creepers and vines coiled over themselves and grew away from the sides of the temple, almost as though the underbrush was trying to crawl away from it. 

"Elf gold, huh," Dandelion mused aloud, sliding off the saddle, "Funny. Nothing here looks particularly...Elven." Geralt frowned and hummed his agreement. The temple appeared old enough to be elven, but the architecture was all wrong; there were no characteristic high, tipped archways, nor were there any gilded etchings decorating the pillars and walls. It looked strangely plain.

Roach yanked against the reigns and tried to back away. Anyone else would have called it the jitters of a nervous charge, but the witcher held her impeccable danger-sense in high regard.  He turned her about, muttering softly, and backed a short distance into the treeline until he was satisfied that she wouldn't injure herself trying to get away or damage his equipment -Gods knew he didn't have the current coin to repair any of it- and looped the reigns over a low hanging tree branch.

There was an entrance to a tunnel down that lead to what looked like just a dark pit, yawning like a hole in the world, but for a faint glimmer that caught Geralt's gaze where something shone just beyond. The pair, once again having honed these shared looks into an entire conversation, descend into the darkness; Geralt for 'professional' curiosity and Jaskier for his new found wanderlust.

Geralt dug through his pack and ignited a torch in his hand with the gesture of Igni, illuminating the golden steps a flickering orange down into the next chamber. The ceiling and walls of the hall were also unadorned as before, but the ceiling and floors were not what shone as unnaturally bright as Geralt's mutated eyes. Shiny ingots, diamond-laden jewellery, and ornamented caskets and bowls of gemstones overflowed like crystalline waterfalls spilling over onto a tidal wave of gold coins that sloped from one corner to the next. All shone invitingly bright in the firelight, not a speck of dirt or dust in sight. The centre of the room held an equally untarnished solid gold throne.

The witcher was familiar with his medallions reactions to magic, usually a twitch or a tremble, but for the first time since its awakening it rattled on its chain erratically like the tail of a cobra. The sick feeling had returned to worm its itching fingers into his mind like telepathy magic.

"Dandelion," Geralt murmured, his rough voice carried unnaturally in the hall, "Don't let anything touch your bare skin. Better yet, keep your hands in your pockets." He closed his fist around the vibrating wolfs head, feeling the points of the metal cut into his palm. He turned just in time to see the overly curious bard reaching forward.

"Jaskier!" Geralt barked, baring his fangs. The bard snatched his hand back as though he'd been struck on the knuckles.

"Do you remember what happened the last time I told you not to touch something?" The witcher snapped. Jaskier paled, fingers unconsciously coming to his throat.

Geralt sighed, shoulders sagging from their usual defensive hunch, his anger quickly crumbling to regret like old mortar. He too felt an icy spike of fear lance through his chest at the memory though his came with the poisoned barbs of shame. He dropped the torch without a care where it landed and crossed the distance between them in three swift strides, taking his friend gently by the shoulders. He could feel the faint tremors and the chill of the bards skin through the fabric of Jaskier's ridiculous jacket and hoped that the warmth of the contact would drive away the cold sweat that had taken over.

"I'm sorry. That was unfair to-Dandelion look at me- it was unfair to make you remember that, the memory of that day haunts me too like a wraith. I failed you then, as a protector and as your friend and I refuse to allow harm to befall you again. I'm as curious as you as to this place but something here is very wrong and if finding out what puts your life in danger then for once I'm happy to let my curiosity go unsated."

Dandelion nodded, jaw clenched shut, he looked moments away from tears or vomiting. Geralt felt sickened by himself- he would rather fight a Chort with nothing but his bare fists than hurt the ones he cared for. Gently, Geralt took his friend by the elbow and lead him shakily up the stairs and into the light.

They were met with the tips of many arrows, Geralt growled low in his throat and put himself between his friend and the Scoia'tael. The archers parted to let a young elven woman with a smear of war paint over the bridge of her nose and a deep blue strip of cloth holding back her braided hair come forwards.

"You've no business here, Dh'oine." Her voice was light and melodious but held the tone of a commander, or the righteousness of youth. "I suggest you return to your village."

"We're travellers," Geralt said honestly, "We saw this place and were curious."

Her eyes clouded briefly and she glanced away. "This is not a place for the curious..." She murmured, unending grief under her words.

"Your gold is undisturbed, I give you my word." The witcher took a half-step forwards, his posture and voice softening just the same way as when he had the rare chance to talk to children.

"Of course it is, vatt'gern," The elf's piercing gaze swept back up, fixing Geralt with an emerald stare and freezing him in place, "Your flesh has not melted away from your bones. And this is not our gold, it is cursed- a terrible spell of dragon fire will consume anyone who touches it." Jaskier gulped.

"A golden dragon once ruled here, and demanded offerings of gold and treasures. One lord hated that the beast collected more from his subjects than he did, and plotted to steal all the treasure for himself. The lord presented himself as a friend, offering pretty baubles and even his own crown to the beast. The dragon changed his form to that of a man to admire himself in a mirror. Without armour, he couldn't protect from the poisoned knife in his back, but he could spend his final breath not to curse the lord but his treasure hoard, keeping it his for all eternity.

This is the gold he cursed with his own fire. We have broken away to keep it guarded." The surrounding archers lowered their bows as one and slowly dispersed into small groups, only their leader remained where she stood.

"Your companion," Her voice had softened, and she gazed over Geralt's shoulder sympathetically. "He does not look well..."

"He will be better away from this place." Geralt inclined his head to her politely, "Va fail."

She mirrored his farewell, if his knowledge of Elder speech had surprised her she didn't show it.

There was no time left to break curses, let alone such a powerful one laid down by a golden dragon's dying words. _Next season_ , Geralt thought, helping Jaskier up into the saddle, _next season I'll come back. Or maybe I won't, leave this cursed gold safe for another golden dragon to claim._ Golden dragon's were supposed to be the most beautiful whatever their form, and Geralt found himself pondering the idea of him ever wandering into one.

Geralt watched her silhouette fade into the treeline and become one with the forest along with her unit, all too young for warfare no more then children rallied to a higher cause. What that cause could be, Geralt had an inkling, though witcher's don't interfere with the changing of the world. Just kill monsters, take the payment, and get spat on. Sighing, he eased Roach's reigns over her ears and lead them, finally, northward as indigo streaks began to stretch across the sky above their heads.

Darkness fell swiftly, and the ominous rumblings of thunder had heralded a storm. The pair had struggled through until the way had become too perilous when lightning had struck a tree not a lances length from them. The decrepit remains of an old watchtower offered the closest thing to shelter against the heavy rain and howling winds; most of the walls remained intact and there was enough of the first floor left to use as a roof.

Settled beside a meagre fire, between the stone wall and his friends back, Jaskier huffed and pawed at his nose in his sleep. His usual high spirits has returned somewhat after the witcher had tripped over a rabbit's hole in the ground and almost smacked face first into an oak tree. He had seen the offending ditch and could have easily avoided it, yet Geralt missed the constant background noise of his friends chatty nature and giddy laughter; and let it be said that one Geralt of Rivia was certainly not above making a fool of himself for his companion's amusement.

But that was when there was still a trace of light in the skies above, no light from the moon or stars were visible through the oppressive layer of thick, black storm clouds and Geralt felt ill at ease when closing his eyes to blink. The witcher kept his gaze fixed out into the darkness, scanning the dense forest for danger. He had heard something that sounded far too much more like growling than thunder.

"G'ralt?" Dandelion mumbled, shifting and rubbing his eyes. Geralt's eyes flicked over and flashed an unnatural shiny green. The bard had first discovered that witchers eyes reflected the light several months ago when a drunk had swung a flaming torch at Geralt's face. The witcher didn't even flinch at the licking flames, though Dandelion had almost jumped from his skin at the sight.

"Go back to sleep, Dandelion." The witcher muttered, voice a low rumble over his shoulder. Jaskier shifted closer, curling up tighter under the thin blanket and soon his breathing had once again deepened and slowed. Geralt eased his unsheathed silver sword back over his knee and took another gulp of Cat, grimacing and blinking his watering eyes. Six massive eyes blinked back at him.

Geralt was silent all and tense all morning. They packed up a single bedroll, stamped out the smouldering embers of the night's fire, and set off at a gallop for the distant silhouette of Kaedwen's capital.

Dandelion, for the first time since they had met, said nothing at all and held on tight to the straps of Geralt's armour. He had learned early on that his witcher wasn't the chatty sort, but this oppressive silence was bad even for him. Jaskier leaned forwards, pressing marginally closer, and hoped his presence wasn't the reason Geralt was so on edge. He ignored the passing landscape that he would usually comment on or murmur a few verses about a particularly striking flower, waterfall, ruin, or tree, and reserved himself to silence. He glanced up with a soft sigh, at least the skies had cleared.

The closer they got to the looming structure of the province's capital the bard became aware of a very quiet rumbling, and his surprise was only equalled by his anxiety when he realised the ominous sound was coming from the man in front of him. The clench of his hands on the reigns had the leather of Geralt's gauntlets creaking with the strain and even he was likely unaware of his low, drawn out growling. 

Geralt's shoulders didn't drop an inch from their defensive hunch until the gates of Ard Carraigh had shut behind them, and then by only an inch. Dandelion was certain that if the witcher had the ears to match his eyes, they would be laying flat back, guard up and threatening.

Two hard pats against his forearm had the troubadour rising and sliding off the saddle, landing heavily after almost an entire day on horseback. Geralt dismounted, as light footed and nimble as ever and hooked his fingers into the side of Roach's bridle. She had far less patience for Geralt's moodiness that Dandelion and shook her head forcefully with a disgruntled snort and rolled her eyes before letting herself be led forwards.

An armoured fist punched against the reinforced leather of the witchers cuirass before he could take another step and a nearby red headed city guard stepped up close.

"Going somewhere, cat-eyes? Got to pay the non-humans tax to enter here."

"I've paid," Geralt hissed baring his teeth, and signing Axii in the guard's pockmarked face, "By not breaking your damn nose, now run along." The swindling guards face went slack and he staggered away in a dreamlike daze muttering 'run along, run along'. 

Two bright blue eyes stared up at Geralt in wonder, and a little boy with straw caught in his hair whispered, "Wizard?"

Geralt rolled his shoulders into a position hopefully as non-threatening as possible and crouched to be at the boy's height. "Hello," he called softly, the usual rough edge to his voice turned warm, like a comforting if scratchy blanket. He caught the heavy scent of horse on the child's clothes when he approached. Of all the people he could interact with, children were definitely his favourite; they neither tried to cheat or swindle and the fear of having a strange man with two swords and funny eyes around turned to curiosity instead of mistrust like their parents.

"You work for the stable man?" A few lengths of hay shook free as the boy nodded eagerly. Geralt smiled, conscious of keeping his pointed teeth hidden, and pointed up to his horse. "This here's Roach, could you take her to the stableman for me?" Tiny hands reached for the reigns Geralt lengthened for him to reach and the stable boy dashed off, giddy, with a gold coin hidden in his pocket with a carrying whisper of 'bye-bye wizard!'

Dandelion's eyebrows were at his hairline and he stared at the witcher with incredulous amusement, as though he had been stunned with Axii himself. Geralt shrugged. "What?"

"Nothing!" Dandelion turned, hands on his hips, shoulders shaking minutely and breath shuddering with suppressed laughter. Geralt rolled his eyes with a small smile aimed to the back of his friends head and gave him a gently nudge with his elbow as he passed.

Not ten paces inside the city, a charming local paused in his drunken bumbling to shove against the witchers chest. "Where're you going, mutant?" he slurred before hacking and spitting on Geralt's face. Dandelion, sensing his chance for bravado and bravery, spluttered in outrage and shoved past Geralt, reaching for the collar of the much larger man's shirt.

"Now see here, you ignoramus oaf-"

Geralt grabbed at Jaskier's arm and pulled him away several paces, previous levity forgotten. He didn't need the bard to mouth off to the wrong people in defence of a mutant's honour, then have to draw his sword to defend Dandelion from theirs.

"Dandelion." Geralt snapped, tone hard to ground the over eager peacock he'd been travelling with. "I'm hungry, I'm tired, and I don't want to spend the night in a jail cell for the second time this week. I'm a witcher, getting cursed at, called a freak, and spat on is a part of that. Witcher training included how to deal with rude people, either turn away or break their kneecaps. And as I just said, I don't want to have to break out of another prison."

Geralt tugged the hood of his cloak up to hide his hair and cast his face in shadow. He was so close to the fortress he could almost hear the clamorous laughter and jovial smashing of mugs if he closed his eyes and concentrated. Alone and on foot, he would have forgone the capital and continued his way east, but his companion and Roach needed the rest and the perilous mountain paths were dangerous at summer's peak, let alone on the cusp of the snows fall. 

There was an inn up ahead, hopefully lacking in patrons sober enough to make trouble. Geralt's grim mood had sapped his patience and an altercation would right now likely end badly. Melitele appeared to have a sliver of pity for the witcher this evening as the inn appeared to be mostly empty, only a few bands of locals had claimed the tables and there was a group of off duty guards propping up the barman's counter. 

Geralt stalked his way silently though the crowd to the bar. One of the guardsmen, the only one not unconscious, was startled by Geralt's sudden appearance and slid off the side on the countertop and onto the floor in a heap. _That_ gave the witcher a reason to stifle a smirk. The Halfling stood behind it paid the incident no mind and pushed his eyeglasses further up his nose, putting on a bright smile.

"Greetings!" The Halfling leaned forwards, elbows resting casually on the bar top but the sudden dip in his voice was far from, "You shouldn't linger here, witcher."

"Greetings. I don't intend to. How much for two rooms?"

"Ah. We've only the one room, sirs." The merry façade returned. "'S 40 ducat's"

"How much for one room, a bath, and some food?" Geralt asked hopeful, feeling the pitifully light coin purse at his hip.

"That'll be 55, sirs."

The witcher grinned, and handed over the very last of his coin.

Geralt flopped back over the end of the cot with a contented sigh, happy to finally have had the chance to scrub the filth from his skin. That the only room they could find and afford was the tiny attic with a single bed didn't worry him in the slightest; the roof didn't leak, the mattress was free of lice, and the door bolted. All that was missing was a bottle, a bowl of something hot, and a warm, naked body next to his and he could well be in a waking dream.

Dandelion, however, was far less impressed but his grumbling only served to make the witcher's spirits raise even further. Geralt stretched with a lazy smile and a pleased hum, spine arching languidly, legs dangling, and his arms coming to settle to half way up the mattress above his head.

"Don't know what you're so happy about..." The bard huffed, sitting down heavily in the lone rickety chair by the window and crossing his arms, pointedly ignoring the witcher sprawled out and purring like a cat in the sunshine.

After a knock that rattled the hinges, Geralt swung himself back over the footboard of the bed and retrieved two warm bowls of stew from the table outside the door. He kicked the door shut behind him and passed one over to a still sullen looking Dandelion. Geralt gave his friend a soft look and spooned a dumpling from his bowl to Jaskier's. The meat was tough and the dumplings a little dry but it was hot, filling, and went down easily. For the first time in weeks, the witcher was likely to sleep with a full stomach.

Now comfortable and full, exhaustion had caught up with the bard. He stretched, struggled out of his boots and jacket, and collapsed onto the bed behind Geralt, wrinkling his nose at the sight of the witcher discarding his spoon and slurping the final dregs of gravy out of the bowl.

Licking the last residual taste of meat from his lips, Geralt picked up the now empty chair by the backrest, span it around, and wedged it securely under the door handle and slid the bolt across.

"Move over, would you?" Geralt asked, stacking his empty bowl on top of Dandelion's on the table and nudging the bard's hip repeatedly until he responded. "I'm used to sleeping on the left." Dandelion groaned and rolled over, taking the blanket with him.

The troubadour always seemed to feel the chill of the night, and given the opportunity to sleep in an actual bed, the witcher wanted to get some sleep in it, not half off or expecting a foot to the face. They had unanimously decided that this was far better; Dandelion pressed his back against the witcher's chest with as much force as he could without shoving his friend out onto the floor and Geralt slung an arm over Jaskier's waist and curled his knees up.

Geralt relaxed into the mattress, darkness creeping into the corners of his vision. The final stretch of their journey was just beyond the sunrise, and come morning they would be out the gates and heading up to the foot of the mountain.

The gates were sealed.

The gathered townsfolk had taken to harassing the guard captain, the man had the bearing of someone who lived well and did very little; the haphazard holes punched through his straining belt were evident of this. 

"Listen, good people," he raised his hands placatingly, "All I can do about this calamity is remind you all to stay within the safety of the city walls. I can't kill the damned beast."

"What can we do! We can't work the fields with that two headed cat-snake-goat monster roaming around, look what happened to that poor huntsman and his family!"

"We need a bloody witcher!" Someone from the assembled crowd cried over the noise of several dozen unhappy, vocal, citizens. 

"Isn't that convenient..." Geralt muttered petulantly. A portly man in a stained butcher's apron startled at Geralt's outburst. His biting remark died in his mouth when he took in the other man's mutated eyes and dual swords.

"You, white hair. You're one of them witchmen, right?" All eyes turned to him. 

"That's right!" Dandelion piped up, chin raised and chest puffed out, posing like a king for a portrait with his hands set on his hips.

Geralt groaned inwardly. The last Chimera hunted took four experienced witchers to bring down, and Geralt, in humble opinion of his current skills, was fucked. He pulled Jaskier a short way from the bawling throng of people.

"Jaskier, for once, the monsters I fight in you're over embellished stories are actually on scale with this one. I can track it, maybe determine it's age, and that's it. I'll find the beast's lair, then we'll get to Kaer Morhen and tell the senior witchers."

He started through the crowd towards the gate, then pulled up short when he heard a second set of footsteps along with his own. He turned and fixed the bard with a quizzical look. "What are you doing?"

"I'm coming with you, of course!" The bard pronounced. Geralt would usually outright berate him for his blatant disregard for his forewarning and the troubadour's own stupidity however he was about to go wandering around a chimera's territory beating the bushes until the beast showed itself.

The witcher groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. Almost a hundred pairs of eyes were on them. "Fine." he growled lowly, taking a threatening step forwards, "But the moment I sense trouble, you're galloping back to safety like you're trousers are on fire." He turned on his heel and shoved his way past the gawking mass of people towards the guard's checkpoint beside the main gates to retrieve his horse. His companion had neither armour nor a weapon though Geralt was unsure if Dandelion would be safe with either. 

The stable, rather a tether with a shed's roof, was deserted of humans save a snoring drunk in the hay and horse shit so Geralt unlatched the gate and let himself in. If the boy from the night before was present Geralt's mood would have likely improved, so much for the beast in the woodlands the witcher would have snuck into the hayloft to play 'I spy' and use the two coppers he had remaining for a sweet thing from the markets. If anyone would sell to a mutant without spitting on his food first.  

He dropped the coiled reigns of Roach's bridle into Jaskier's hands. "Take Roach." Was all he said as he gave his friend a boost into the saddle. "Don't come down. Anything feel wrong you _go_."

It felt like he was walking towards his own funeral pyre and there was little to nothing he could do about it. It would be easy to simply turn tail and race to the safety of Kaer Morhen, but there were already far too many corpses in his wake that weighed heavily on his mind like an obsidian crown. Geralt squared his shoulders and stalked towards the oppressive darkness of the treeline.

The forests to the south were verdant and green, to the north-west grew predominantly pines; tall, broken, and looming high like pagan gate guardians ushering doomed souls to their disquiet rest. Lightning or forest fires, or drakes who knew in the north, had blackened and warped the gnarled wood like snuffed out candlewicks. Shadowed between shallow, rocky peaks and dense forest the darkness leered forwards suffocating and hungry like a Hyme was waiting to pounce from behind every tree. Geralt scowled, hand coming to rest around the hilt of his silver, and pressed forward.

Tracking a chimera wasn't difficult. First of all, the paw- or hoof- prints left by the offending creature were massive, and a beast of that bulk can hardly be stealthy in such dense woodland without carving a path first. Secondly, the gouges raked high into tree trunks left from the monster sharpening its claws and horns were also an obvious give away when you're encroaching on it's territory. Third, the stench.

A nearby cave that yawned open from a split in the rockface like a dragon's maw had all of the sign's of being the beast's lair, and Geralt felt his throat tighten at the fetid stink of carrion from within.

The fingers of his right hand tightened around the hilt of his silver and his left fumbled with the pouch on his belt. His calloused fingers found the neck of a bottle of Cat potion and he swallowed it down, hoping it would stay there. Witcher potions were vile, but it was a price anyone would be willing to pay: nausea for vision in the dark or even your life. 

Geralt had taken to drawing shallow breaths through his mouth, though that was hardly an improvement. He kept his weight on the balls of his feet, ready to dash behind cover or make good his escape. His eyes adjusted to the suffocating darkness of the cave as he descended towards the beast's nest. The scent here was overpowering yet a few hours stale. The witcher released a shuddering sigh, though he didn't know himself whether it was from relief or dread.

The prospect of how long it would take to scrub a chimera's stink out of his clothes and hair quickened his desire to leave and he picked his way back towards the pinprick of light that was the cave's mouth and the blissful promise of clean air. Free of the clutches of darkness, he took a few dizzying, greedy lungful's of pine scented mountain air. Chimera scent was thick and heavy and he snorted a few times as he made his way back towards the path the beast had carved; that cave had felt like Geralt had shoved his nose directly under the creature's tail.

A terrified shriek pierced the air like a jay's call and moments later Roach bolted past in a bracken coloured flash without her rider, leaving kicked up dust to settle and the retreating thunder of hooves in her wake. Trying to stop her would be futile in any case-old girl was a solid wall of muscle-and Geralt had absolutely no desire to be knocked unconscious by his own horse right outside the monster's den. He could hear her stamping an screaming a short distance off the path over the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears.

 _Her reigns must have caught on something._ Geralt blew out a breath and broke into a run the way she had come. _At least Jaskier still has a shot at making it back to town._

The witcher arrived to the clearing just in time to watch Dandelion scrambling backwards over the slippery leaves away from the massive snarling head of a Lion and a drooling, milky-eyed Goat loom forwards out of the trees.

Geralt unhooked a grapeshot bomb from his belt and threw it at the lions head, aiming for its eyes before darting forwards. The beasts shrill cry shook the nearby trees and it swung its smouldering head side to side wildly. The goats head squealed and slammed its horns down like deadweight falling trees scant inches from where the bard and the witcher had been seconds before they had dragged each other away.

Geralt bared his teeth at the beast and mimicked its growl, putting himself between the chimera and Dandelion.

"How do we fight this?" Jaskier blanched, backing away as the beast slowly advanced. His cap was missing and his usually meticulously styled hair was rumpled with bits of moss clinging to the strands.

"With careful planning and great difficulty." Geralt backed up along with the bard, still using his lithe body like a shield.

"And what do we have?"

"About twenty paces head start. Run!" Geralt threw down a Yrden trap, grasped Jaskier's hand, and ran.

A petrifying cacophony of noise split the still air and the ground beneath their feet shook as the monster gave chase. They fled, holding tightly to each other's hand either for comfort or as a lifeline in case one fell, tangled in brambles or over tree roots. They kept to the dense underbrush, the beast couldn't reach them through the narrow gaps but the forfeit was speed. 

Geralt stumbled to a halt at a fork in the path, and pulled Dandelion to a trembling stop too. He pointed to their right looking nowhere but his friends wide blue eyes.

"Roach is about a quarter mile that way, get back to town and don't stop for anything. And I'll have no hare-brained heroism from you, either. Understand me?" Geralt took him gently but firmly by the shoulders.

"But-but-" Dandelion quaked. Geralt turned them and pointed up to a crumbling structure that was once a bridge over the gorge, just visible through the trees.

"I'll try to lure it up there and maybe trip it off the edge, a great height like that should kill it just as well as my silver." Dandelion nodded, voice failing. His hands came up to grope against Geralt's on his shoulders. The witcher's head whipped around and a heartbeat later the hulking monster rounded the corner.

One last look and a squeeze of their hands and they parted, Jaskier sprinting down the diverging path on unsteady legs, he felt another wave of magic at his heels as Geralt cast another rune of Yrden to buy him some more time.

A shrieking bellow sounded behind him and the realisation that the sound had come from Geralt chilled him to his core. He had never though of his friend as anything other than a man as much as himself only with odd teeth and eyes, this was one of the rarest occasions when the bard truly caught a glimpse of the monster under a man's skin.

He found Roach a short distance away legs raked red by the thicket's biting thorns; sharp, wicked, and hungry for blood like a monsters teeth. Dandelion untangled Roach's reigns with trembling hands from the brambles she had caught herself in.

"Steady now, old girl, I'm here. Calm down now." He soothed, feeling anything but calm himself. It took a few weak-kneed hops but he managed to hoist himself up into the scratched saddle, and spur her forwards with little encouragement back towards Ard Carraigh. 

Faint movement to his side had Jaskier pulling Roach to an abrupt stop at a gap in the trees, he could just about see the tiny form of Geralt and the beast scrambling up the slope in the distance. Geralt had legendary reflexes, skill, and speed, but the beast countered all that intensive training by sheer size alone. Decisiveness set white hot in Jaskier's chest like a tiny sun burning beside his heart. He wheeled about in a tight circle and drove Roach to a gallop back the way they had come. Dandelion hunched over the horses neck and clung as much to the reigns as to her mane, the lurching speed made his stomach churn and his throat prickle sickly but the thought of his friends broken body at the bottom of the chasm sickened him further than Roach's unsteady gallop ever could.

The monster beat Geralt to the top of the bridge with a pounce and bore down on him with a snarl, though to the witcher it looked more like a victorious sneer. Deciding that he very much hated that particular expression, Geralt stuck his hand out and gave the lions head a searing blast of Igni, and used the opportunity of the monster reeling from the flames to dodge past. There was now nowhere else to go, the chimera hissing and seething in front, and a long, _long_ , drop into the gorge at his back.

 _Witchers don't feel fear, witchers don't feel fear, witchers don't feel fear_. Geralt repeated the phrase over and over inside his head as his fingers held the sign for Quen, hoping that he could will it true. He growled, low and threatening, hating the way he felt his heart pound but how could it not, a witcher boy staring down a beast that could swallow him whole.

The snake tail lashed, hissing, from side to side, as the beast rounded on him slowly. It was an unnerving movement, the methodical stalking of its front end and the erratic slashes of it's rear. Geralt roared a challenge, brandishing his teeth and his silver, the metal sang a soft whistle as he twirled it in a tightly controlled arc. 

The chimera pounced, pulled up short, and lashed out with her claws. Geralt twisted out of the way with a shout, they missed _him_ but sliced through the shield spell and the protective chainmail that covered his stomach like a hot knife through lard. He backpedalled and choked, sign hand flying to his belly. His palm came away flecked with blood but from the shards of metal piercing his undershirt. He blew out a shuddering breath and set his stance- nothing that won't have healed by the time they reached Kaer Morhen. 

Geralt let loose another roar, frustrated and scared with blood and magic thrumming through his veins; ** _come and get me, i'm right here, take me in you're teeth and snap me in two!_**

The chimera roared back, scored it's claws against the stone with a grating shriek, and leaped. 

Geralt ducked, rolling forwards under its reaching limbs. His silver sword sliced through the flesh under its foreleg at the crease of the shoulder joint, splattering crimson onto the ground beneath them. Fear had him moving too hastily and he twisted in a way his body would later make him regret, and shoved forward with Aard.

Everything seemed to slow for a moment. Geralt barked a curse as his body crumpled and rolled awkwardly over his shoulder with the momentum and the force of his magic. The monster lost its balance, slipping, and landed heavily on it's flank. Geralt thanked every deity he could name when it toppled. The chimera flailed and writhed over itself in attempt to both right herself and reach him, teeth gnashing wildly. Geralt's eyes met those of the lion and he shuddered, taking in the look of absolute hunger that had driven it to near madness. 

The massive bricks coughed a puff of mortar dust and collapsed under the weight of the beast. It's separate heads roared, squealed, and hissed as it struggled and kicked in a desperate attempt to drag its gargantuan body back up. A few more frantic gouges to the stone and the monster disappeared down; it's cries echoed through the chasm before they cut off with a dead stop thud. 

Geralt staggered away from the edge and fell to his knees, silver sword dropping with a clatter. His ragged gasps were silenced by the remains of the bridge beneath his knees beginning to crumble. A sudden flow of ice surged through his veins, chilling him to the core as the old stone gave way before he could scramble to safety and he fell.

His lifeline came in the form of a clump of binding weeds that he managed to grab on to but the sudden pull of his weight wrenched at his shoulder and yanked the vines away from where it had laced itself among the gaps in the masonry. The slow creak of the roots upending taunted him and his futile search for something to grab onto when the dead wood failed. Just as the old roots prised free of the rock a hand shot down and long artisans fingers snatched closed around his wrist, surprise cutting off the bitten down yelp of the shock of falling again. 

A few moments of hauling and groaning later and Geralt and Jaskier fell back against the sturdier foundations of the stone arch in a breathless heap.

"What do you suppose you would do without me to save you all the time, hmm?" The bard's voice trembled as much as Geralt's legs as he wobbled to standing, knees as unsteady as those of a newborn colt, but the last of the witchers giddy rush of adrenalin had him giggling as he pulled Jaskier up too and they hobbled away together.

Geralt staggered haltingly and turned his friend with a hand on his shoulder and embraced him. Dandelion smiled and hugged him back just as tight, the clenched ball of fear that had lodged itself in his chest finally loosened its grip with the reassuring weight and warmth of Geralt's arms around his shoulders.

Something cold landed softly on Geralt's knuckles and he jolted at the sensation, shaking his hand. Faint traces of white also decorated his companion's softly curling hair.

"What..?" Jaskier's soft look of relief caught creasing into worry.

"Your hair..." Geralt trailed off still staring."

"My hair? What about my hair!" The bard reached up, eyes wide like a rabbit's caught in a snare, and felt a small clump of something that melted in his fingers. Their eyes met. Snow.

The snow had long since reached the bards knees and he hadn't been able to feel his feet for hours. All that kept him trudging miserably forward was the promise of shelter and Geralt's words, soft against the howling wind, _'just keep putting one foot in front of the other, dear friend, we'll be warm and full come sundown'_.

Three days up the treacherous, winding mountain paths and, had anyone said so before he would have laughed long and loud like Zoltan after hearing a 'so does your mother' joke, when the crumbling visage of Kaer Morhen became visible in the distance he felt nothing but sheer, unsoilable joy. The exhausted burn in his legs subsided a little and they both pushed forward up the mountain with renewed strength.

Snow and ice filled the decrepit courtyard like a bowl, Geralt kicked out at the slippery barricades of white to forge a path from the entryway to the stables; Roach too cold and drained to shove through herself. He put all his weight into yanking the door open, heat and the thick scent of horse mingled with the sweeter smell of hay rushing out to meet him, along with a unified disgruntled fussing from within. 

Geralt gave Roach's nose an affectionate stroke and lead her inside. She made a small weary noise in return and shook the ice from her mane and face, grateful to at last be out of the cold.

There were already several horses huddled together in the first set of stables; one black, two grey's, and a bay. The black stallion raised his head with a soft snort and Geralt felt the cold a little less. It was no secret among the other witchers that Eskel was his favourite company; his easy going humour and good natured playfulness had won Geralt over since they were boys. They had bonded through the perils of the Trials, and the Path, and had an unspoken agreement to gang up on Lambert at any and all opportunities.

Geralt smiled, corners of his eyes creasing softly, the aching numbness made his fingers clumsy now just a mild inconvenience as he fumbled with the buckles of Roach's tack and saddle. Once freed, she wandered over to Scorpion and scratched the base of his huge neck in affectionate greeting.

He ducked back outside and shoved the door's closed. Face and lungs burning from the frozen winds, Geralt pulled his ice-stiff cloak tighter around himself and stamped his way up the slope to the main door's of the keep, Dandelion pressed tight against his side. Geralt leaned most of his weight against the huge wooden doors, all that remained of his strength sapped from the final uphill struggle in thigh-deep snow. He drew back his fist and slammed it has hard as he could against the scarred wood.

"Open up damn it, before we freeze! Hey!" He croaked, Jaskier joining his effort in pushing against the door and calling out, meek voice stolen by the high whistle of the wind through the cracks and stone channels of the walls. 

The door's shook, protested, then parted with a creaking groan. The white haired witcher and his troubadour collapsed over the threshold.

It took the combined strength of three witchers and an exhausted troubadour to force the great doors shut against the howling wind and snow. Eskel caught Geralt as he sagged back against the wood and engulfed the smaller witcher in a great bear hug.

"It's good to see you again, wolf." He grinned, tugging on a frozen lock of Geralt's hair.

"Hello Geralt." Coen smiled, the smattering of dark hairs on his chin was noticeably thicker than it had been the last winter. "Who's your friend, bit cold here for a kingfisher, isn't it?" Coen tipped his head to the side curiously and he shrugged off his fur cloak to drape it over the trembling poet's shoulders. 

"Jaskier Pankratz. Troubadour, goes by Danelion."

Several older witchers, Berengar, Gardis, and Tjold, raised their mugs in greeting, and a few shouts of 'hello' echoed over from the kitchens at the base of the adjacent tower. Lambert grumbled a muffled greeting though several furs and blankets heaped by the hearth.

Vesemir wove his way through the gathering of cat-eyed old men and clapped Geralt on the shoulders, sending clumped snow falling to their boots. "Glad you made it, lad, I was beginning to think you wouldn't." His thick grey brows shot up then pulled together in fatherly concern in seeing Dandelion shivering between the two younger witchers. "You two get out of those frozen, sodden clothes and warm yourselves up. There's already water drawn from the well that should suffice for a bath, and there's hot stew waiting on the fire."

Geralt bought their foreheads together for a brief moment, soaking in his warmth, before pulling away to take his companion by the arm and pull him towards the back of the keep. He stooped to take a frozen bucket in each hand from the line by the wall and lead his shivering friend up the spiralling tiled staircase, pausing every few steps to glance over his shoulder to make sure that Jaskier was keeping up.

Geralt set the buckets back down by the column in the centre of the room and woke the fire housed behind the grate with a gesture. The lapping flames soaked some of the feeling back into his hands and he signed, dragging himself away with the same pain and longing to return as one would after a purr from a succubus towards the large copper tub in the far corner behind a screen and hauled it towards the fire with a few hard, lazy pulls, growling as his frozen shirt yanked at the hairs on his stomach that were stuck to it.

When he turned back Dandelion was huddled as close to the fire as he could get without self-immolation to get away from the cold. 

"Hey," He called over softly, "Take all that off, i'll be back with more water." His hand rested briefly on the poet's waist as he passed back towards the stairs behind them. 

He returned with two more buckets to find Dandelion struggling out of his trousers. Geralt snorted quietly and smirked not unkindly at his friends ridiculous fashion sense. Geralt dumped the contents of all four buckets into the first tub, then stuck his hands into the icy slush and held the sign for Igni until the water steamed invitingly.

Geralt stripped carelessly until only his medallion remained and lowered himself down into the tub with a series of soft gasps, the hot water searing feeling back into his numb legs. Once seated, he sunk down into the tub as low as he could go, a loud delighted rumbling reverberating from his chest. The noise Dandelion made as he joined Geralt in the hot water made the witcher laugh and knock their knees together. His eyes slowly fell closed, and the aching cold that gnawed at his bones began to leech away.  

A soggy towel smacked Geralt in the face and he cracked open one golden cat's eye to glower at whoever dared to rouse him from his dozing.

"Geraaaaaalt." Dandelion whined. He was wrapped in as many towels as Lambert was blankets. "Get out of the tub, you've been in there almost two hours and it's freezing!"

The witcher rolled his eyes. The water _had_ almost gone cold. He briefly entertained the idea of telling Jaskier to plough himself and re-heating his bathwater, however his empty stomach complained loudly. With only minimal grumbling he hauled himself upright and stepped gingerly onto the cold stone floor. He scrubbed his cooling skin briskly with a nearby towel, the only one Dandelion hadn't claimed for his own, and padded across the circular room.

Geralt muttered to himself while rifling through the trunk set at the foot of the large bed shoved against one of the walls for a few sets of trews, trousers, and shirts. They were a fairly poor fit for the bard, but they were warm and dry, and coupled with two pairs of fur lined boots left kicked in a corner from the previous winter and a few heavy blankets draped over their shoulders like cloaks, things soon felt downright cosy.

He left his customary leather headband on the table, leaving his hair to fall softly just past his shoulders and shine a soft white like fresh snow in the light from the fire.

"Come on then, Dainty-lion." The witcher's fangs flashed in a bright smile and he dashed down the steps.

A young witcher waited for them at the door leading through the kitchen.

"Here Geralt." Leo smiled, boyish and kindly, handing over two steaming bowls of soup. Ever since Vesimir had bought the war orphan to Kaer Morhen he had latched onto Geralt and watched him wide eyed in equal parts awe and idol worship- Geralt that had survived the experimental mutations, Geralt that had mastered the Signs first of his brothers, Geralt that some poet wrote songs and ballads about like a story book hero. He wondered what would happen if Leo discovered that that poet was the one under their roof right now.

"Did you get any new scars, what was your last contract, did you hear about the chimera in the valley?" The boy rambled, excitable and endearing, tripping over his words. A hound pup in a wolf's den.

"Actually, Geralt and I just fought it. We won." Jaskier stuck his chin into the air. Leo's blue eyes were round as saucers.

"You did! Tell me everything, please Geralt!"

Vesemir appeared behind the young novice and placed his hands on the boys shoulders, either to lasso his excitable nature or stop his eager bouncing from breaking a floor tile.

"That does sound like quite the tale, if you care to share it?" The old witcher held a hand out to let Geralt and Dandelion take the door first, and steered the still vibrating Leo after them.

"Yeah, I'm sure Dandelion would love to have everyone listen to his voice all evening." He smirked at the indignant spluttering from between him and Vesemir.

Lambert had emerged from his nest just enough to cradle a bowl and complain about the cold. To Geralt, his brother looked like a disgruntled hedgehog. He gave the younger witcher's backside a kick as he passed.

Varin glanced up over the rim of his mug and fixed Geralt with a critical eye. "Did you take a trophy?"

"No," Geralt said with a grimace, sinking down onto a bench with a bear hide thrown over, resting his bowl of soup on his knee. "I was more concerned with finding a set of clean trousers." The senior witchers, Vesemir included, chuckled and reached over to pat his shoulders. 

"Well then," Tjold slapped his knees and stood, "what can I get you boys to drink? Nothing pairs as well as a good story and alcohol!"

"Fancy wine for pretty boy, he'll curtsey if you do." Lambert jeered from the fire. Geralt spoon hit him square in the forehead.

"Hey! Vesemir-"

"Papa!" Geralt cut over in his most petulant, childish tone. Lambert shot him a death glare so fierce that a fiend would cower away. Sat the opposite side of the hearth, Eskel and Coen nudged each other with their elbows and chuckled knowingly.

"Vesemir-" Lambert shouted louder, and was once again interrupted by Geralt.

"Papa, he hit me again! Papa-AH!" Lambert pounced from his blanket nest and tackled him.

The old witcher simply shook his head at his children now grown and continued enjoying his soup.

*

_They say witchers are void of all emotion, that love and happiness are as alien to them as horses are to flying. But, dear audience, here I sit -wrapped in many blanket's mind you- in the halls of Kaer Morhen bearing witness to a gathering of witchers, my dear friend Geralt of Rivia, his two brothers of the school of the wolf Eskel and Lambert, charming young Leo, and their mentor come father Vesemir -or Pop-Pop as Geralt started calling him at the end of his third bottle- and many more sing, dance, and make merry through the cold._

_Who knows, perhaps my least favourite season will soon become my first._

_Fin._

**Author's Note:**

> I like to think that the secondary mutations Geralt was put though made his teeth more fang-like as well as the pigmentation loss in his skin and hair and his vocal range is a bit more animalistic than most other witchers, hence all the growls and purrs and other noises.  
> I've also intentionally left any description on Dandelion's appearance minimal because in the books he's blond and in game his hair is dark so you can see him to whatever is your preference.  
> I've always thought that Geralt and Dandelion have complete disregard for that no homo rubbish let men be close and sweet and affectionate with their friends yeah (see Bruce Banner and Thor a la Thor:Ragnarok)
> 
> (Additional: HOLY BLUE EYES WHITE BULLSHIT I FINISHED IT)


End file.
